


Can't Kick The Dog, Can't Kick The Habit

by waferkya



Category: Basketball RPF
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lime, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferkya/pseuds/waferkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ricky and Kevin and a mild hangover and dogs and making out with Chase asleep downstairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Kick The Dog, Can't Kick The Habit

“You will miss me.”

Kevin takes the cup of coffee Ricky’s offering him, and with a laugh he says, “You’re not even gonna make that sound like a question?”

Ricky smiles, bright and cheeky and a little lopsided as he flops down on the bed next to Kevin, backing up so he can prop himself against the wall as well.

“Nope.”

It’s freakishly early in the morning, and Kevin is hungover, so he giggles fondly and doesn’t even try to hide it. He takes a sip of coffee and his eyes flutter closed, a pleased rumbling sound stuck to the back of his throat.

“Good?” Ricky asks, and he’s grinning smugly back at Kevin around the giant cheese-topped bagel he’s somehow managed to stuff into his mouth almost all in one bite. Ricky has a surprisingly big mouth. Kevin tries not to think about that too often, and mostly he fails.

“Good,” he murmurs back, and by the third sip he’s starting to feel vaguely human again. “You checked on Chase already?”

Ricky nods. He pops the bagel out of his mouth and licks melted cheese off his fingers. Ricky has very long, lean fingers, another thing Kevin tries not to waste too much brainpower mulling over, and another thing he also fails at.

“Passed out in the other room.”

“What other room?” Kevin asks, frowning a tiny bit. Ricky has stuck his thumb all the way into his mouth now, sucking on a particularly stubborn chunk of cheese or something.

“The… other room,” he says, waving his bagel-wielding hand in the air a little. “The one with the things.”

“Yeah, that makes it so much clearer.”

Ricky seems satisfied with his licking-fingers-clean business, and he shoots Kevin a sideways glance that doesn’t even try to look annoyed.

“Why you so fussy, cabrón? You’re hungover. Shut up.”

There’s a certain logic to that, Kevin can’t really deny it. Still, he’s curious.

“C’mon. Make an effort for me?”

Ricky rolls his eyes and bumps his knee against Kevin’s. “Está en el salón, okay?”

Kevin drinks his coffee, a tiny, thoughtful frown wrinkling his forehead. He’s pretty sure that _salón_ means living room, and living room, he considers, means downstairs; besides, last night Chase drank more than him and Ricky combined, so he should be out as a light for another while.

The bedroom’s door is open and Kevin can’t bring himself to care; he sets the almost-empty cup down on the floor and then he has both his hands cupped around Ricky’s face, tugging him closer, ignoring the soft, half-hearted yelp of protest Ricky makes into his mouth.

Kevin is not exactly subtle when he kisses, and even less so when he’s kissing Ricky—Ricky who has a weird magnetic field around him, pulling in Kevin’s focus, every single one of his thoughts, and all the rest of him. If he’s being honest however, that tends to happen with everyone; Kevin has yet to meet someone who doesn’t look at Ricky like he hung the fucking moon or has the sun hiding under his skin and saves the day just by existing. Ricky and his giggles and his dimpled shoulders and his thin, thin waist; Ricky and his pack of friends that followed him through the ocean without even blinking, Ricky and his gleaming eyes, Ricky and his accent, and the things he does on court, and the clothes he wears, and the smooth, ripped expanse of his chest.

Ricky is a death trap, that’s what he is, and Kevin never, ever does things by halves; the first time he saw Ricky’s tan skin he could read on it the promise of endless trouble waiting to happen, and he’s now determined to live through it all.

Ricky kisses him back like he’s starving for Kevin the same way Kevin’s starving for him; like he needs him, and this, as much as Kevin does; and it makes no sense but sense is not required for it to feel good, wonderful, exciting and dangerous and perfect. Ricky sucks on the tip of Kevin’s tongue and Kevin groans, pushes into him harder, because he knows Ricky can take it, Christ, he doesn’t think there’s anything Ricky couldn’t take. Which turns him on in disturbingly effective ways.

Kevin is only half-aware of his own hands shifting down Ricky’s sides and slipping under his hoodie; he has it down to a form of art, the way he responds to Ricky’s closeness purely on instincts: he reaches and touches and grabs as naturally as he would catch a ball thrown at him, his conscious brain doesn’t even bother to kick in anymore. His fingers wrap around the bony curve of Ricky’s hip like a reflex; he leans in further and clacks their teeth together, Ricky tears away to huff a breathless laugh and then squirms until he’s flush on his back on the mattress, Kevin over him, hips pinning him down.

“Thanks,” Ricky says, with a tiny sweet kiss to the corner of Kevin’s mouth. “You let me finish breakfast.”

“Hey, I’m a gentleman.”

Ricky laughs, all warmth and long limbs; Kevin bites at his neck and it’s not entirely playful, but Ricky arches off the bed and into it with a soft whine, and Kevin bites harder.

Then there’s something hard bumping against his ass, and it’s not the fun kind of hard thing, nor the fun kind of bumping. Kevin yelps, and Rupas barks happily back at him, still trying to shove his nose between Kevin’s legs.

“Jesus Christ! I’m being harassed by a dog, Ricky, do something!”

Ricky is this close to dying from a collapsed lung, he’s laughing so hard. Kevin shifts off of him, shooing Rupas away and shoving himself against the wall. “ _Ricky_.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got this,” Ricky manages to breathe out, and he sits up and loops his arms around Rupas’ head, shoving his face into the fur and catching the dog’s full attention.

Kevin looks at Ricky giggle and actually rub his face into the dog’s neck; when Rupas twists and turns to bite his ear, Ricky lets him, and then they’re both rolling around on the floor, fake-wrestling, and the problem with that is that Rupas is a freaking _dog_ , not a person, but Ricky doesn’t seem too worried. Kevin has seen him with his dogs before, he knows the kid is more comfortable around them rather than people, but the way he lets himself be licked and tackled and tossed around, sniffed and poked, is still disconcerting, and unusual, and not at all fucking endearing.

Eventually, Rupas grows tired of messing around and runs out of the room without a single glance back to Kevin; Ricky sits up, props his elbows on his knees, hands hanging in the wide space between—and Kevin is most tempted to fill that hollow right up, except Ricky’s face is wet with Rupas’ drool and there’s dog hair everywhere on him and Kevin is not getting any close to that.

The sentiment must show on his face, because Ricky looks up to him with his best fake-sad pout.

“Gimme a kiss?” he says, his voice thin and soft; Kevin shakes his head.

“Thanks, but no thanks. You’re kinda disgusting.”

Ricky only shoves out his bottom lip a little further. Kevin takes pity on him, but mostly he’s thinking of the half hard-on still trapped in his pants.

“Go take a shower,” he says, waving at the door. “I’ll join you as soon as you don’t smell like dog anymore.”

Ricky is grinning as he scrambles up to his feet, and he’s already out of his hoodie by the time he’s reached the door, and turns around to look at Kevin from above his shoulder.

“My dogs smell just fine, asshole.”

Kevin rolls his eyes.

“Like a spring’s day and the ocean and baking cookies,” he says. “And since we’re listing things that are not true, yeah, I’m gonna miss you.”

Ricky is already out in the corridor at that point, but after a moment, his hand appears in the doorframe, flipping Kevin off.

“I hate you too!”

Kevin smiles.

Now that is definitely not true.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Yep, you guessed it, this is pointless fluff. Not so pointless though, because it officially makes me 50% of the Basketball RPF fandom here on AO3. Carry on, peeps.


End file.
